


Moonlight Melancholy

by Ubdqelliot



Series: The Broken Lion [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Camping, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, POV Second Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Psychological Trauma, Shadowheart is only really mentioned, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29994699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ubdqelliot/pseuds/Ubdqelliot
Summary: The four strangers have been through hell- pun intended. Physically and emotionally exhausted, they decided against their better judgement to bed down for the night. Not everyone, though, is comfortable left with their own thoughts.
Series: The Broken Lion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206383
Kudos: 5





	Moonlight Melancholy

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place the same day the prologue occurs. The group has not found Lae'zel, the tiefling camp, and has not raided the temple.
> 
> TW: attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, ptsd nightmares

There was most certainly reason, when you brought your bedroll to a separate part of the campsite. You knew it to be less safe, as you would be both further from the fire and much more exposed to potential predators. Some part of you knew you should care.

You didn’t.

For all your talk of survival and being careful, you knew it seemed contradictory. You wondered if Shadowheart had a mind to take note, given her slight grudge over your caution. Still, you felt your distance was a necessary gesture for reasons you hoped to the gods they needn’t find out. At the very least, with the elf rogue on watch for the night, you felt more secure in your distance.

While you didn’t exactly place full trust in the man, especially after his blade nearly made it to your throat, you decided whichever end the night had would be in your favor: should the elf be honest, you wouldn’t be eaten alive or slaughtered in your sleep; should the elf be dishonest, the blade would be embedded in your throat or chest and you didn’t have to worry about the larvae in your skull; should the elf fall into a trance by accident… well, nature’s cycle would continue.

Whichever should happen, you would be content with. You just chose to place faith in the blatantly dishonest man should he chose to be loyal this time, as if you were to continue this journey, you needed allies. However… unusual they be.

Brushing the dirt from your hands, you rose to your feet once more, looking out onto your trio of companions. Shadowheart, after your conversation, was still by the tree stump, obsidian eyes watching you like a hawk with distain and distrust. Astarion was across the campsite from her, choosing to stand as to not soil his outfit further. Though he seemed to be playing aloof, you weren’t fool enough to believe the man’s ruby eyes were truly as careless as he played them to be.

Gale, your final companion, was stood by the campfire, allowing the light to burn as he stared in deep contemplation. You recognized the look, briefly wondering if you dared interrupt and ground the man. There was intent behind your choice to stray from the fire, however much the chill ached. Still, it felt unfair for the most agreeable of your allies to also be the only one you failed to converse with the first night.

You didn’t know when you began to approach the man, but you managed to recognize you had when you felt the warm touch of the flames to your side. Part of your chest _burned_ with fear, nearly trembling from the memory of earlier today. The wizard seemed to take note of your arrival, yet didn’t move in acknowledgement, instead continuing to glance at the flames that licked up the branches you’d collected.

“Go to Hell.” The words surprised you, having followed a long silence. You didn’t take him for one that would be so outright confrontational, especially after how you first encountered the man. After a quick, deep breath to return you to your brave façade, you decided to return in jest.

“Been there, done that,” you half-jokingly teased, arms folded across your chest in an attempt to hide your discomfort. He finally turned to glance at you with a small grin upon his features and a nod.

“An everyday expression,” he remarked, gaze returning to the fire. “So trivial it’s almost meaningless.”

 _But it’s not_ , you wanted to say.

“We’ve seen Hell. And it’s not trivial,” the arcanist continued, his voice deeper in sorrow. It was difficult to keep your mind from thinking back. “Devils, dragons, mind flayers- they used to be abstracts. Pictures on a piece of paper. What a difference a day makes.” You could already feel the weight of memory building in your chest, you didn’t need to indulge it. You tried to keep your eyes trained on the side of his face, rather than the flicker of the flames, yet it was hard to refrain from indulging in the pain.

You clenched your fists, hoping the concentration would keep your mind at bay.

His eyes glanced towards you, having noted your silence since your initial remark. Perhaps it was the tension in your features, or the way your hands desperately gripped your bare biceps, but he decided best to wrap up his statement. “Now we have tadpoles slithering through our heard like carnivorous foeti.”

The part of your brain that held your façade knew you were meant to encourage him; _them_ , and yourself. If you spoke works of hope and faith, there might’ve been a chance you believed it. The rest of you, though, remembered where you were before the mind flayers came. You didn’t want to struggle; to pretend to have faith; to _pretend_ to be alright. You’d finally worked the resolve to escape.

Yet here you were, before Gale and knowing you were supposed to continue to _pretend_. But you couldn’t. “I know. We’re in deep shit,” you admit, releasing a sigh containing a multitude of emotions.

“Point unfortunately well made, I see.” His eyes flickered across you, searching for something beyond your features. You don’t know if he found what he was looking for. “I’ll wake you, bright and early. We’ll need t find a healer before the wee one gets hungry,” he said, gesturing to his forehead.

 _Yes,_ you silently agreed reluctantly. _I suppose we do._

You stepped away, drawn to your bedroll by the exhaustion in your muscles and the desperate need to be _alone_. They needed you strong. You needed to be weak.

Your boots quickly kicked off and your armor placed beside your belongings and backpack of books (one, really, and it was the book of sea shanties to Umberlee you saw at the pier you discovered Shadowheart near), you pulled the blankets of your roll up past your shoulders, hoping to hide your face from the others. Gods know you needed to.

* * *

Suffering. Pain. Suffocating. Drowning. Endless.

Trapped. Longing. An idea.

Resolve. Anticipation. The dull aching still lingers.

Fear. Uncertainty. Memories. Remorse. Grief. An absolute.

Weightless, as intended.

Release. Joy. Peace, at last.

No more.

Gravity. Your feet on solid ground. Unable to move, unable to _escape_.

No, this wasn’t the _nothing_ you expected. Why? You’re not supposed to be _here_. You’re not supposed to _be_.

You blinked, confused and _furious_. Your eyes widen in fear as you watch a silver fleshy creature with a face of tentacles reaches into a large bowl, your anger vanishing into horror. This… this couldn’t be real, right? This is just your purgatory, your moment of hallucination as you’re dying. It _has_ to be.

But it wasn’t. The githyanki woman- you never imagined you’d see one in person, let alone talk to one- was the first to have the parasite brought to her. You thought maybe it would go in her ear, or nibble on her face, which were also horrible possibilities, but for some reason, the creature _crawling into her eye_ was objectively worse.

It took a second or two to realize that you were next. You wanted to fight, your survival instinct kicking in- you didn’t realize you still _had_ one; perhaps it was the idea of something slithering into and behind your eye, filling up your eye socket and squeezing through. You struggled against your bonds- you realized you were in a pod, the lid pulled away so the _thing_ \- the mind flayer- had access to you. Your arms were bound to your sides, your legs to one another, and you hardly had any room to resist.

As you realized you could turn your head, the thing’s gaze fixated on you, lurching your head forward as it drew near. You couldn’t even _speak_ , hopelessly pleading with it in your mind. _Please. I’m not a good host. I’m going to die, I was trying to die. Your larva won’t make it. Please, let me die._

Of course, your pleas went unknown or unheard. It drew ever so closer, and you wanted to scream, to fight, to _resist_. Tears of pain and grief rolled down your cheeks against your will, all sobs clutched back in your chest as the worm crawled up your face, making it to your eye. Small tentacles grasped either side of your left eye before the small creature let out a _shriek_ that rattled your brain and senses.

You know you passed out, the blackness taking you once more as the scream _echoed_ , adrenaline coursing through your body. As your vision waned, you could feel the insanely uncomfortable heat of flame, a now-too familiar sensation of _burning_ licking up your torso as you tried so desperately to _scream_.

Once again, you felt you were falling, but this time unlike before, with a feeling in your chest of fear. Where last time, you were resolved, excited for what came next, now you were terrified. You were airborne for many seconds before the feeling of relief came, _hope_ that in death, you would escape this creature now growing in your skull. ~~If only it were that easy.~~

There was no moment of impact, no release. Your hope turned into confusion, then horror, as you realized you were bulleting downward endlessly. There was nothing now, save the _burning_ , the _scream_ in your head, and _falling._

And falling.

and falling.

falling…

_“Welcome me, Leoth.”_

“No!” You sat up with a shout, clutching your loose shirt tightly in your trembling fingers. Your breaths were labored, tears rolling down your cheeks as your mind attempted to understand your surroundings. Your nerves still felt as if they were on _fire_ , if only for the moments of waking. The beating of your heart was just _so loud_ , but as moments passed you were able to recognize your relative safety.

You were _here_. On the ground. Alive.

There was cloth between your fingers; a chill to the air that flooded your lungs. There was dirt beneath you and furs around your body. There were trees speckling the clearing, a gently roaring river nearby. Faintly, _faintly_ , you could hear the burning cinders of the campfire yards away- a sound you decidedly _didn’t_ want to hear, and as such you instead focused on literally anything else as your heartbeat tried to slow.

“My, I envy the person who can make you scream like _that_.” You jumped, quickly crawling away from the source of the voice, suddenly uncertain and insecure as you instinctively pulled thorny vines into your hand. It took another moment for you to realize it was only your pale ally, hands raised in visible surrender. “I’m no threat, at least, not _now_ ,” Astarion attempted to tease. “I can’t say for the beasts you no doubt roused, but _I’m_ not going to hurt you.” You think he’s trying to comfort you.

Your eyes dart around with that, concerned as to what or who you may have woken. Shadowheart seemed to just be a bit irritated, bringing one of her furs back up to her shoulder. Gale, on the other hand, had sat up, glancing over towards you to ensure your safety. Seeing that everyone was safe made you feel a bit at ease- you may not _know_ these people, but knowing they’re alive and relatively calm meant there wasn’t imminent danger.

You brought your knees to your chest, placing your elbows around them and running your fingers through the hair on the top of your head, resting your forehead on the palms of your hands. _Gods_ you were weak. Part of you hoped the worm would do its job so you could die and the others would just end whatever miserable creature erupted from your body. The rest… knew you had a responsibility here.

After a moment or two, you rose to your feet, needing answers. You knew in broad strokes about githyanki and mind flayers, and you knew _of_ the parasite that resided in your skull, yet you never knew what it was _like_. The way Gale talked earlier, he did. You needed to know what would happen should you fail. You needed…

The wizard sat on his bedroll by the fire, staring once again into the flames as if studying them. A slight title of his head showed you his acknowledgement of your arrival, moving to sit in the dirt next to him. As a gesture of kindness, he shifted closer towards his pillow, inviting you to sit with him. After a moment of reluctance, you did so, folding your legs up to your chest as you stared at your feet.

“Rough night, then?” He piped up, thankfully being the one to initiate conversation. You simply nodded in response.

“I think you might’ve underestimated exactly how _traumatic_ an experience today was,” came your response, alluding to his introduction. A small silence fell over the two of you until you decided to follow through with your question. “Ceremorphosis… how… what happens?” Your bright green and orange eyes glanced his way, focusing on him and the way the warm light brightened his features.

His eyebrows raised with slight surprise at the question before his expression fell, seemingly recognizing the situation you were in before returning his gaze to the fire. “Day one: fever and memory loss.”

“Is that supposed to be today or tomorrow?” You asked stupidly, causing a slight grin behind his facial hair.

“Day two: hallucinations and greying skin,” he instead opted to continue. “Day three: hair loss and blood leaking from all orifices.” A pause, allowing him room to think. “Need I go on?” His eyes glanced to you, sounding resigned, perhaps irritable. At best, cautious of your already weakened mental state. Rather than speak, you instead nodded, focusing on his words. “Day _four_ : excruciating pain as the skeleton and organs reform and reposition.” _Now_ he saw why he wanted to stop. “Day _five_ : the host’s personality has disappeared. Fingers, toes, and limbs elongate. I take it you get the picture?” Now he truly sounded irritable.

You made sure to remind yourself to breathe. “I do, but please finish.” Your words felt small, his expression easing as his gaze returned to the campfire once more. “Day _six_ : the flesh around the mouth splits to make way for tentacles. Day seven: a mind flayer is born.” A pause (for dramatic effect?) “This is the annotated version, of course,” he added gently.

“Shouldn’t we have fevers by now? Even a small one?” You asked, cautious.

“It _has_ been but a quarter-day at best…” He reached a hand out to place the back of his hand on your forehead, for just a brief moment before retracting it and nodding. “But yes. I don’t feel even a slight ever. In fact, you feel rather chilly.” It didn’t take a genius to realize the last part was alluding to the fact your bedroll was far from the fire, leaving you exposed to the cold of the night. “Perhaps we’re fortunate and will have a slightly longer timeline. Realistically, of course, it should hit us by morning to early afternoon.”

More reflective, mournful silence. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. So much has changed; this morning you intended to end your life, yet now… well, things weren’t too different, but now you _wanted_ to at least try and survive. But perhaps that wasn’t meant for you.

“Make sure I’m dead by day four.” Your morbid words surprised him, a confused and concerned expression on his face.

“How would you like me to stop that pretty little heart of yours?” Astarion’s voice interjected as he approached, a playful smirk on his face. “I am open to suggestions. Knives, poison, strangulation… whatever you’d prefer.”

You don’t know showed how utterly fucked up you were: the fact you brought it up, or the fact you had a rehearsed answer. Or, perhaps, the fact your rehearsed answer was much, much different than the choice you’d go with of those options.

“Depends. If its you-“ You teased with a wink and your tongue out. “I’d opt for strangulation. A bit more intimate.” Returning to your grim thoughts, though, your gaze returned to the fire. “Snap my neck. It’s supposed to be quick and painless, if you do it right.” Your eyes narrowed as you turned to Astarion once more. “And I’m sure you can.” You’d seen the way he fought. For a city noble, he had experience in combat, and perhaps assassinations. You feel you could trust him.

“I’ve always felt decapitation was a fine choice,” came his response. “One good _swing_ and then… _nothing_.” There seemed a familiar look of… bliss? on his face as he lingered on the final word. A part of you wondered what kinship in torment you held, to have such a peaceful look at the idea of death.

“This is a bit grim for my tastes,” Gale piped up, looking at the two of you. “As much a pragmatist I am, I’m choosing to hold the belief of a cure. Taking action during the calm before the storm.” A somewhat more uncomfortable silence fell over you three.

You rose to your feet. “Get some rest, the both of you. I’ll keep watch. I doubt I can get much more sleep tonight.” You moved to stand on top of the fallen tree, using your quarterstaff for balance.

“I’ll make sure you don’t turn or run off,” Astarion piped up, moving away from the human’s bedroll. A silence nod was your response.

“I’ll see you both in the morning, then.”


End file.
